and rose into the sky.
"Dragons of Requiem!" she shouted. "We've secured the city. We've shown our strength! We—"
Shrieks rose in the south.
Lyana's heart froze.
Hovering in midair, she turned to see a bustling swarm cover the southern horizon.
They had slain a hundred nephilim. Ten thousand more now cried for blood and stormed toward the city.
Merciful stars.
Below Lyana, Osannan soldiers ran along the streets, drawing swords and arrows; they heard the distant shrieks. Around her upon the towers, walls, and roofs of the White City, her fellow dragons snarled and stared. They were weary. Blood coated their scales. So much of the city lay fallen around them, towers smashed and walls fallen and houses crushed—the work of but a hundred nephlim. Now thousands flew from the south, and Lyana trembled and spat flames.
"Stars bless us, Requiem," she whispered. She landed back on the steeple. She could not win this fight, she knew. Not with only three thousand dragons, most of them elders and children. Not with only men living in this city, soldiers so small and frail by the cruelty and might of the Fallen Horde.
So here my life ends, she thought, far from Requiem and far from my king—here, upon the white walls of Osanna's Jewel, will I die with fire.
The screams rose from the south. The eyes of the nephilim blazed. Their wings rose and fell like a cloud of locusts. All around Lyana, dragons snarled upon roofs and men drew arrows upon walls.
Dorin perched upon a temple's dome beside her. He looked at her, and his eyes were weary; so much pain and whispers of blood filled them.
"Lyana," he said softly. She had never heard him speak softly before. "Lyana, you are brave, and you are strong, and you fought well. But now we must flee. We have shown our honor here, but this is not our war."
She glared at him, and her claws dug grooves into the steeple.
"This is Solina's horde!" she said. "These are the beasts that ravaged our camp. Here is our war—it flies toward us."
Dorin sighed and gestured at the city that sprawled around them. "In Confutatis? City of men? We are Vir Requis, Lyana. These are not our walls to die upon. This is not our city to protect."
"Our walls fell!" She snapped her teeth. "Our city, which we protected, burned. I will make my last stand here if I must. If here is my end, I will make it an end for poets, and I will rise to the stars knowing that I died fighting my enemy, not fleeing into the wilderness to die alone and old many years from now, still haunted by my cowardice."
Dorin shook his head, and smoke streamed between his teeth. "Cowardice, Lyana? Is it cowardice to seek life when death looms with certainty? Is it cowardice to survive, yes—to flee—when there is no chance of victory? No; I call that prudence. Your valor will have you die upon walls not yours. What honor is there in that? How will your death protect those of our people who still live? I would rather live as a man than die as a dragon. In the forests we survived."
"Until the horde found us," she said. "How much longer do you think we can hide? The nephilim cover the world; stand and fight them here, Dorin. With me."
And yet… and yet her words tasted stale to her. She wanted to roar them with conviction, to rally his heart and hers. But was this valor truly foolishness? Was his wish to flee not wisdom? And had she—Lyana herself—not fled from Nova Vita as its walls fell and the dead burned upon its streets?
The nephil army was close now, so close that Lyana could count the teeth in their jaws. She flapped her wings and rose higher, and flames filled her maw. She growled and her wings sent dust flying across the city below.
Maybe I am foolish, she thought. Maybe he is wise, and I am but a headstrong soldier dreaming of glory. Let him flee then; let him survive. But I am Queen of Requiem, and the scourge of my people flies before me, and I will roar my fire. If I must stand alone, I will die with my fire and the song of my stars—foolish perhaps, but I am a warrior, and I will die as one.
The Fallen Horde stormed across the fields, a tapestry of claw and fang, a night of rot and malice. Dorin grunted, gave Lyana a last